


Rainy Nights

by LittleMissHara



Series: Blow a Kiss, Fire a Gun [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dancing, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gentleman Harry Hart, Harry Hart Lives, Harry has an eyepatch, It's all cuteness okay and I love cuteness, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissHara/pseuds/LittleMissHara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was always nice to shed the persona of Arthur & Lancelot. They could be themselves, alone, together, in peace, as simply Harry & Roxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Nights

**Author's Note:**

> [ ;; I'm so excited for the response from my previous little drabble/poetry thing! This one is a little longer, surprisingly, and I hope it's just as good! Enjoy! ]

" _... So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past._ "

The buckram-covered book closed itself as its inked words left his lips, the crackling of the fire & the pattering of rain now the only sounds in the flat.  
His arms were around her waist, clasping the closed book, lips pressing a kiss to the back of her head, letting the lilac perfume fill his senses.  
"F. Scott Fitzgerald was a lovely writer, hm? Worthy of praise," Harry spoke softly, shifting himself on the couch to set the book on the coffee table nearby.  
"A strange writer, though," Roxanne responded, moving just slightly so the elder man could set the book down elsewhere. "Hearing you read it makes it better." Her body, small yet strong, laid against his chest. Comfortable. Safe.  
"I suppose my voice has a certain... Tone to it that provides excellent imagery to a strange book written by a strange author," Harry mused, hands returning to their spot on top of her clothed torso.  
"Now you know why I ask you to read to me." She made sure her hair wasn't in his face too much, moving it off to the left side of her head, then letting her hands rest on top of Harry's, delicate yet deadly and smooth, contrasting with the rough texture of Harry's.  
He said nothing in return, eyes closed, face & body relaxed yet still on guard. The eyepatch remained over his right eye, a reminder of what happened long ago. Pain often erupted from underneath the fabric, but all he could do was take pills to snuff it out until the pain came back again. It was a routine, albeit one he truly despised following, but there was nothing much he could do.  
He could feel her let out a soft sigh, relaxed as he was, her thumb caressing across his fingers, passing over the cold signet ring that appeared harmless but was surely deadly. He was deadly.  
She was deadly as well, perhaps much more than he was with his age, but at that moment, they could be like any normal couple, albeit one that had a 30+ year difference between them, but nonetheless a normal couple.  
"Roxanne."  
" _Roxy_." She was always so quick to correct.  
"Roxanne rolls off the tongue smoother."  
"Yet when we're in bed, you call me Roxy."  
"Heat of the moment, I suppose."  
"I'm having an absolute _wonderful_ time lounging with you, Harry, but I get the feeling you didn't say my name for the hell of it."  
There was a moment of silence. She shifted slightly, wanting to see his expression, though for the most part, it was unreadable. As much as they've seen of one another, be it in Kingsman or in bed or even at dinner, she wasn't very good at figuring out what he could be possibly thinking of. She wondered if she'll ever be good at it.  
"Do you want to dance?"  
" _Dance?_ "  
"It's a rainy night, the fireplace is roaring, and yet we're doing nothing. Dancing seems to be in our best interest."  
"A normal man would offer sex in this situation."  
"I've never called myself a normal man, have I? Nor are you a normal woman."  
This was true.  
"What do you suppose we dance to?"  
"I'm an old gentleman; I hope you don't mind a record."  
"With you, I wouldn't have it any other way."  
Roxy got up from her position, running her hands through her hair to fix it, pulling down her black cotton nightdress. As of late, wearing nightdresses was easier than wearing her typical white shirt and long pajama pants, and Harry made sure she was in good supply of them.  
Harry got up as well, dressed in his cotton beige sweater and a collared shirt underneath, slacks pleated but slightly wrinkled due to the way he sat. For once, he didn't seem to care about it, taking slow strides towards an old record player, below it a cabinet of sorts, kneeling to open it. An assortment of records within the colorful confines of their sleeves were nearly sorted by alphabet, and Harry chose one in quick time, closing the cabinet and setting up the record player carefully.  
Roxy liked watching his hands; they were so _delicate_ , handling the record and the player as if it was a newborn child, yet in another moment, they could be gripping an enemy by the neck, ceasing his existence in a few short moments with a clean bullet to the head or a cruel snap of the neck. He was **unpredictable** with those hands, and perhaps that was one thing she truly enjoyed of him.  
The sound of a standup bass filled the small living room, Harry offering that unpredictable hand to her, a small smile - no teeth - on his lips.  
"I never knew Elvis could work so well on a rainy night," Roxy murmured, taking the hand as she stepped close, then closer, deciding to step on his feet (which were clothed with house slippers), knowing he wouldn't mind. He was strong, as was she, but it made her a little taller, though he didn't mind. He never minded her height, how delicate in appearance she was but how cruel and dangerous she was in mind and in strength, and he never let his own power dominate hers.  
In this dance, they were equals, dancing to the soft sounds of Elvis Presley's 'Can't Help But Fall in Love' matching the tone of the steady downpour out beyond their shelter of warmth, the fireplace only complimenting the storm outside.  
For now, they enjoyed each other's presence, even after the song ended, bodies moving to nature's tune, knowing that tomorrow could be just another rainy night or the last time they would see one another like this, so vulnerable, so real, so.. Harry and Roxy, because tomorrow, they would just be Arthur and Lancelot.

  
But that was okay, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [ ;; Well, there it is! Another little thing out. I hope you all enjoyed, and feel free to comment! I'll keep posting more as I continue on. Have a great evening! ]


End file.
